


It's My Fault

by itisunreal



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Philinda 48-Hour Identical Promptathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisunreal/pseuds/itisunreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like Bahrain all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's My Fault

“I can’t do this anymore, it’s too hard.”

The words fall as a sign from Phil’s lips, tumbling softly into the air and dissolving before he’s positive Melinda’s heard them. He hopes his confession will gather some kind of emotion from her, a reaction that shows she’s still there, fighting to get back. Anything more than what he’s been graced with the past few days, and he’d been happy.

He pauses than as her breath hitches, and he’s sure she’s finally about to break, it’ll all flood out, and she’ll be able to start picking up the pieces again. But he only pinches the bridge of his nose with aching fingers as her eyes become hidden from him, and he hears her breathe deeply through her nose.

He realizes he doesn’t know what day it is or how long it’s been since their extraction. It feels like years but only seconds rolled into a chaotic moment of blank stares and robotic movements. It feels like Bahrain all over again, the less responsive she becomes, the more she looks at him like she doesn’t know him. And just like before he’s run out of ways to help her except to leave her to her own devices, but this time he’s well aware the blame for this belongs to him.

Pulling out a kitchen chair, Phil deflates, dropping onto it, and regards the woman in front of him in front of him. She’s tiny, so much smaller than he’s ever seen her. And his guilt grows watching her, this woman he doesn’t know, curled in on herself, becoming lost in the fabric of a sweatshirt two sizes too big. He feels she somehow takes up much less space than before.

The burden of his betrayal solidifies in his chest because he can’t mend her in any way, but he had no problem fracturing her.

Hindsight screams he should have just signed her transfer, not promised he would after one more mission, not hoped it would change her mind. His only defense is that he was afraid to lose her.

He chuckles at that thought because that fear, his fear, had been her ultimate downfall.

When his eyes reconnect with her, he sees her shifting around, movements stiff. The pain medication sits untouched on the coffee table. His only tell of how much she hurts is the grimace she’s wearing as her head falls back onto the couch cushion.

There’s a tightening in his chest, a constriction of his heart, that she seems unmoved by his words. A tiny part of him knows that ‘it’s too hard’ is a cop out, that he just doesn’t want to see the true damage done, but he can’t watch anymore.

Standing, he locates the jacket he tossed away days ago, and pulls an envelope from the breast pocket. Glancing at her, he checks to see if she’s paying attention, but she’s not. He thinks maybe it’s better this way, he can give her this last redeeming act.

Taking the papers out, he puts a check by the word immediately, and hesitates only a moment before signing his name. Refolding the papers, he gently puts then back into their home, and pulls his jacket on.

He’s no use here. He tells himself that over and over again to ease the guilt of him leaving her like this.

It’s not his fault. He tells himself that over and over to assuage himself. Reminds himself she could have declined the mission, but knows he’d asked her, and knows she’d do anything he asked of her. 

Placing the envelope on the coffee table, he finally sees a sign, one he’s been searching for, for days. The light from the window hits her just right, and he can see the glistening of a tear streak from the corner of her eye until it fades into her hair.

His first reaction is to comfort, but his steps stutter then died completely. “Melinda…” His voice sounds harsh to his own ears, the way it cracks and weakens.

“Phil…”

He perks up at the sound of his name, she hasn’t uttered so much as a word since they’ve been back. It’s a good sign, and hope swells in his chest until he notices the way she’s avoiding his eyes, him, and his heart sinks into his stomach. 

“Just get out – please.”


End file.
